


Love isn't all that it seems (I did you wrong).

by islabbe



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Grief, Post-Season/Series 04
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-13
Updated: 2018-04-13
Packaged: 2019-04-22 11:47:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,876
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14307993
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/islabbe/pseuds/islabbe
Summary: The world had ended.  Again.  Now that they’d had time to stop and actually catch their breath (for what felt like the first time in months), Bellamy actually had time to think everything over.The ring was the perfect place to do so.  It was quiet save for the low machine hum; familiar and nostalgic, but also unwelcome and different all at once.  He’d grown used to the loud clanging of broken parts on factory station, and then to the quiet chirping of birds and other animals on the ground.  Until they’d all stopped.(Post S4 spec inspired by Burning House by Cam)





	Love isn't all that it seems (I did you wrong).

**Author's Note:**

> I know, I know. Season 5 is literally around the corner, but here I am wallowing in S4 angst. 
> 
> This idea came to me last night while I was trying to sleep and I couldn't shake it. So, here we are.   
> I'm not very good at writing angst/grief. Or rather I don't feel comfortable writing it because it hits too close to home for me a lot of the time. So I'm not sure what everyone will think of this, it's basically just me projecting for nearly 2000 words.
> 
>  
> 
> _Title and lyrics taken from Burning House by Cam_

_I had a dream about a burning house,_

_You were stuck inside I couldn’t get you out._

The world had ended.  Again.  Now that they’d had time to stop and actually catch their breath (for what felt like the first time in months), Bellamy actually had time to think everything over. 

The ring was the perfect place to do so.  It was quiet save for the low machine hum; familiar and nostalgic, but also unwelcome and different all at once.  He’d grown used to the loud clanging of broken parts on factory station, and then to the quiet chirping of birds and other animals on the ground.  Until they’d all stopped.

The chatter dies away as he extracts himself from the group.  Obviously overjoyed about surviving, their excitement was too much for Bellamy at that moment.

He wanders around the ring for a while, not really focussing on where it is he’s going, just walking.  It was something he’d always done, even in the tiny room he shared with his mother and Octavia.  Pacing and walking to clear his mind.  Except now, he can’t clear his mind at all.

Thoughts race through his mind, all of them bringing up mixed emotions.  Relief that they made it; it’s short lived and is soon followed by a ripping pain and grief that feels like his heart is being ripped apart and forcing itself up his chest.  Tears burn his eyes and he blinks them away, stopping his pacing.

He opens his eyes and feels a bitter laugh rise through his chest.  Of all the places to stop, here he is at the window that faces the burning Earth.  The same burning Earth that holds Clarke.  He tries to bat the thoughts away but they creep into the back of his mind; images of Clarke running from the death wave, the radiation soaking its way through the suit, her face when-

He clenches his fists and bites his lip, _hard._   He tastes the familiar metallic tang of blood, and feels his injured wrists cry out in agony, but it’s still not enough to dull the pain in his chest, not enough at all.

He looks down and sees a bottle.  He frowns and picks it up.  As he looks back up he takes the time to actually look at the ground now.  He tries to make out the patch of Earth that they landed on, somewhere in North America, he knows.  But the entire world is aflame, everything is fire and ash and he can’t tell where the oceans start and stop, never mind the separate countries.

“She saved us again,” comes a quiet voice to his left.  He snaps his attention over to see Raven staring out at the burning world too. 

He wants to say something, anything.  But his throat feels like it’s closing in and each breath feels like shards of glass making their way down to his chest.  Instead, he clenches his jaw and nods.  He can see the orange fires reflected in Raven’s eyes, tears welling in hers too.  He turns his attention back to the burning ground, back to Clarke.  His heart burns painfully at the thought.

“You think we can do this without her?”  Raven voices quietly, her voice thick form the unshed tears.  Bellamy stops for a moment.  It’s a thought that’s been on his mind since they, no _he_ , decided to leave her behind.  Hell, it was racing through his mind before that, when she told him he’d have to use his head if anything happened to her.  _She was right,_ he thinks to himself.  His heart stutters painfully and he steels himself, willing his voice to work.

“If we don’t,” he begins.  His voice sounds faraway, like he isn’t really aware of what he’s saying.  “She died in vain.”  Tears well in his eyes again and pain ripples through his chest at the admission that yes, Clarke is gone.  No, not gone, _dead_. 

“And I’m not gonna let that happen.”  He stares out at the burning Earth but isn’t really seeing it.  His mind is running in a million different directions and he can’t stop the tightening feelings in his chest.  Raven has stayed quiet, letting him finish.

“You with me?”  He asks, turning his head towards her.  He can see tears building up in her eyes, the same as his own.  She steels herself before turning to him.

“Always.” 

 

* * *

 

_I’ll stay here with you until this dream is gone._

_It’s the only place that I can hold you tight._

 

He’s not sure when it became a habit, sitting by the window.  Back on the Ark, there was always work to be done, or something to do for Octavia, or a “random” inspection to prepare for.  But now, on the ring, there was nothing to do.  They’d rationed the food and Monty had started the algae farm up.  Bellamy had always seen himself as somewhat of a leader on the ground, but he’d always had Clarke.

Up here, he was alone.

Raven took over most of the delegation of tasks, keeping everyone (except him) busy.  They seemed to have an unspoken agreement that he needed more than just something to keep his mind off everything.  Most days he’d walk around the ring, keeping out of the others’ way.  He’d join them for dinner, but found it difficult to engage in conversation with the group.

Eventually, he’d given up entirely.  Resorting to half conversations about simple things like what was for dinner (likely algae), some days even that was too much.  He avoids looking out of the windows as much as possible, not wanting to see the only place that had felt like home to him gone in a wave of fire and death. 

He muses over that sometimes, how a camp of a hundred kids and wooden fence poles had felt more like home than four solid metal walls ever did.  It was the freedom, he supposes.  But deep down he knows that it was them that made it, the hundred, they made him feel _wanted_ , not just needed for once. 

Some days are worse than others, he knows this.  If being on the ground had taught him anything, it was that loss and grief were a turbulent whirlwind of a combination; constantly moving, changing, and never still.  He knew this even before landing on the ground. 

 

That’s probably how he ends up staring out of the window that faces the ground.  On his bad days he stares out at it, thinking everything over.  The ash has settled, the fire has stopped.  Nothing remains of the home he treasured so dearly.  Everything is coated in grey and red from what he can see all the way up in space.  Sometimes, he thinks he can see a patch of green off in the distance through the ash cloud, but the cloud shifts again and then it’s gone.  It’s wishful thinking, he knows, to think that there is one strip of land for them to go back to. 

Other days, he thinks of the conversations he’d have with the people he’s lost.  There’s not much to do up in space, after all; no wars to fight, no elections to hold, no prisoners to break out.  Just the long expanse of time and nothing but his own thoughts to fill it with.

Somehow, no matter what he starts thinking about, his thoughts always drift back to Clarke.

It starts with his mother, the first person he lost.  He’d like to tell Aurora about the hundred kids with the same Ark-issued boots with rips in the clothes and fire in their eyes.  Bellamy likes to think he’d tell her about the good stuff – the teamwork of building the walls, of the hunting parties that were just like the ones from the old stories she used to tell him.  And, of course, he’d tell her about the bad stuff too – about throwing out Raven’s radio, about Charlotte and his erroneous advice. 

He’d tell her about Clarke, of course.  Of how this stuck-up, self-righteous Princess got under his skin from day one.  His mother would raise an eyebrow at him and give him a knowing smile and he’d scowl back at her with a barely concealed smile of his own.  He doesn’t even know where he’d begin to explain Clarke to his mother.  She’d love Clarke, he knows, it was difficult not to, really.  But how could he explain how she worked her way under his skin?  Entirely by accident, and without him noticing at all, until he could turn to her once day and know in his heart that _that’s my person_. 

He takes a breath and leans forward, resting his forehead on the cool glass.  Hot tears well up in his eyes and he blinks them out.  Salty tears track down his face but he can’t even gather the energy to lift his hand to wipe them away. 

He’s so exhausted, from everything.  From trying to survive on the Ark, to surviving on the ground, to fighting for his life, to leaving the ground again and leaving Clarke behind. 

Now, with nothing to fill his days, it’s like every wrong decision he made over the past year has caught up on him, weighing heavy in his chest and on his shoulders.  Nothing seems to make the load lighter, the pain bubbles up and over some days and he finds himself curled up, unable to feel anything and feeling everything all at once.  He lets the tides wash over him, let the pain drown him.  It feels right, he thinks, he deserves this after everything he has done.

_I left her behind._ The thought races through his mind over and over, and he can’t stop it.  He feels darkness settle on the edge of his vision.  When was the last time he slept?  He doesn’t know anymore, everything blurs into one and he lets the pull of sleep take over.  In his last few shards of consciousness he sees wisps of blonde hair and burning, bright, red-hot fire.

He doesn’t sleep easily anymore.

 

* * *

 

_I'll stay here with you_

_Until this dream is gone_

He tries to pull himself together, knowing Clarke would want him to lead their friends in her place.  His chest still hurts, but it’s more of a dull ache now than a constant stabbing.

After six months on the ring, things are starting to improve.  Monty has the algae farm working – it tastes worse than the rations on the ark and the jobi nuts on the ground, but it’s food.  Now there’s more to do; different kinds of algae to try and grow, improvements to the ring to be done, inventory to be carried out.  Bellamy tries to help more now, feeling he can face the day a little easier.

If anyone has anything to say about Bellamy’s absence from the group over the past six months, they don’t say it to his face; for that, he is grateful. 

Some days are still worse than others.  Some days, he still finds himself staring out at the window, wishing he could hear Clarke’s voice.  Hoping he’ll hear that she’s proud of him, that he’s doing okay. 

It’s what she would have wanted.

 

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed(?) it.
> 
> Thoughts etc are always appreciated!
> 
> I'm usually a lot less depressing, so feel free to come chat to me on [ tumblr](http://www.bluehshirtbell.tumblr.com)!


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